30 Days of Porn
by naboru narluin
Summary: 30 smutty drabbles/flashfics rated from PG-13 to NC-17 with different pairings and warnings. Please read the headers.
1. Right Place, Right Time

**Title:** Right Place, Right Time  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> Shattered Glass (Disillusion AU)  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> drug abuse, intoxication, a little violence, implied smut  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> SG!Blades/SG!First Aid  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Sadly, I own nothing.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Blades is bored, and First Aid comes at the right moment.  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Cruel Intentions (prompted by onyx17)  
><strong>Beta: <strong>ultharkitty :D

**Note:** Written for Day 01 of the _30 Days of Porn Meme_.  
>This is part of a Shattered Glass AU mainly about the Combaticons, but also their Nemesis the Protectobots, who are a bunch of really creepy psychos.<br>For better imagination: Blades' paintjob is black and blue, First Aid is mainly dark grey with a bit of white + light blue accents.

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><p><strong>Right Place, Right Time<strong>

Blades was bored. His optics roved over the room - the table, the energon dispenser, another chair - and he flexed his talons when First Aid came in.

The poisoner walked slowly, his gaze never met Blades', not even when he past him and his energy field flared.

The flare was wobbly, the energy signature disturbed by an overlying oddity, and Blades wondered what kind of drugs the medic had taken this time. The 'copter wasn't even sure if he remembered how First Aid's pure energy field felt, and if he had even felt it at all during the vorns they had known each other.

First Aid never reached the energon dispenser.

Blades jumped up, spun around and grabbed the dark grey arms, pushing the smaller mech to the ground. Pinning him down, he grinned maliciously.

First Aid giggled.

"Where are you going, medic?" the 'copter asked, roughly, the last word spoken mockingly. He released one hand to dig his talons in the metal of the other's side. Scratching down, the creaking sound caused an exciting thrill to surge through his systems.

Blades liked the view of First Aid on the floor. Particularly as he was the one who leant over him.

The medic revved his engine, before he giggled again, quietly, and arched into the touch, clutching his free hand at Blades' shoulder.

Blades extended his energy field, and increased the pressure of sharp talons on grey armour.

The optics under the red visor lit up. Whatever the medic had taken, it was probably one of his pain-pleasure stimulants, maybe another experiment with himself as test object.

Interesting.

"Hmpf… hehehehe…" First Aid moaned at another field pulse, then laughed.

"Anywhere you want to go?" Blades asked again, fumbling for the other's interface panel.

First Aid shook his head. "Hehe… nooo~" He prolonged the word longer than necessary. His head rolling to the side, and with a drowsy voice which made clear his processor was somewhere else, the medic whispered, "But you're going to wonderland."

Blades had no time to question it, as after these words a sting burnt at the side of his helm. It was an electrical impulse coupled with coding surging along his energon lines and through his chassis. It settled in his CPU as a slow throbbing ache and heat over all his frame. Heat which wasn't really there; his systems informed him that his core temperature was still within tolerance.

Nonetheless, it was real.

The 'copter groaned, his field flared again and First Aid laughed, pulling him even closer.

Blades didn't notice Streetwise leaving the rec-room when the full effect of the drug set in.


	2. Foreplay

**Title:** Foreplay  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> G1  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> PWP, smut (tactile, energy field play with a hint to plug'n'play), dub-con, light bondage  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Vortex/Breakdown  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Sadly, I own nothing.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Breakdown wakes up with a sensor echo which is nothing of the kind.  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Restraint (prompted by **antepathy**)  
><strong>Beta:<strong> **ultharkitty**

**Note:** Written for Day 02 of the _30 Days of Porn _Meme.  
>Yeah, I guess with that it's official: <span>I have<span> a thingfor molested submissive!Breakdown…

* * *

><p><strong>Foreplay<strong>

Half-awake systems sensed an energy field touching Breakdown's while his CPU booted up.

He shivered. It felt good, although it also felt different.

Breakdown enjoyed it nonetheless, and sighed.

His still slow-clocking processor treated it as memory; a sensory echo created during recharge or reboot which resembled human dreams. A pleasurable ghost sensation of a pulsing energy field; it wasn't strange that its signature was different than his team mates'.

Breakdown exhaled air again in a sigh when the intensity of the echo increased, triggering a pleasantly prickling charge on his sensors. This was odd, however, as it should actually have ebbed away after he awoke. He stretched on the berth, as though movement could shake the feeling off, but trying this made him tense.

He could only move his legs freely, his arms where bound above his head, and now while attempting to move, he noticed the pressure on his wrists.

Breakdown's optics snapped online, and he suppressed a scream.

His force field activated by reflex.

The first thing he saw was a red visor, leaning over him all too close. Staring at him motionlessly, the face to which it belonged hidden behind a battle mask.

_Vortex._

Breakdown just knew, even without seeing the rotor blades.

He glanced up at his hands; they were chained to the berth, and he could barely move his arms. At least it seemed Breakdown was still in his own room, which on second thought wasn't that reassuring.

How had the Combaticon been able to come in? Unnoticed?

Breakdown tensed even more, if this was possible, and his optics met the red visor anew.

He whimpered.

But Vortex didn't do anything. The 'copter just leant over him, his energy field pulsing.

With the force field active, its surges couldn't penetrate Breakdown's armour, but the light pressure was still present.

The Stunticon's vents worked faster due to the panic.

Then Vortex sighed. "Such a shame you woke up…"

Another whimper as Vortex reached for his cheek. The talon couldn't touch the metal, but there, too, was this pressure which he felt faintly.

"You seemed to like me better with your optics offline."

"I didn't!" The residual charge made Breakdown's voice crackle with static.

"Sure…" was all Vortex said when his hand stroked down over the force field-protected blue-white chassis.

Breakdown tore at the cuffs, but it only made his wrists ache, and so he stopped. He began squirming, trying to free himself, his gaze fixed at the red glow staring at him.

His attempts were futile, though, and the ministration on his frame continued.

No, not his frame, his field protected him from any actual touch, protected him from damage, but the sensations of someone's hands so close were still there.

Breakdown tugged at the cuffs anew, wiggling, moving restlessly, not giving up, even though his chances weren't high. The 'copter leant over him, a grey bulk of metal, heavier than Breakdown, and more experienced in combat, not to mention seriously sick in the processor… And always watching him.

How long had Vortex studied him, and how had Breakdown missed it? Why hadn't he noticed that he was being _watched_.

And then, suddenly, the visor went dark.

Breakdown's frantic movements stopped, only his fans still working fast.

With the red optics offline, Breakdown relaxed slightly. He didn't trust the 'copter, though.

Vortex hummed contently; Breakdown didn't know why.

The almost touches continued, intensified, along with the field flares.

"What are you doing? Let me go."

"Hmmm… can't."

Breakdown frowned, but couldn't ask when the other leant down, close to his audio sensor and carried on with a hoarse voice. "I've been waiting for this - for _you_- for a very long time, you know. Ain't gonna let you go now."

Breakdown shuddered. This was insane…

A glossa flicked over his force field. He didn't felt the wet touch, but he could imagine it, and his mind and body betrayed him when a hot thrill ran down his spine.

The 'copter continued, with his caresses - and the staticky voice. "How about turning your force field off? I can't touch you this way…"

Breakdown tensed again. Turning it off meant being vulnerable, and that with the Combaticon helicopter nearby was… _insane_.

"N… no."

"Hmmm…" another hum which made the force field vibrate. "What a shame. I wanna remember that. Wanna remember _you_. Can't do that properly with my optics offline, need my hands…"

Again, there was a surge of something really inappropriate.

The 'copter was dangerous, not to mention a lunatic, but Breakdown's systems didn't seem to care.

"You won't look at me?"

"Won't…" Vortex muttered, engine revving.

Breakdown switched his force field; and then the touches and field pulses became _real_.

Breakdown shuddered at the sudden intensity, and the obvious desire written in the other's energy signature. He bit his lower lip so as not to moan.

Hands roved over his frame, slowly, sometimes teasingly and sometimes with a firm pressure on transformation seams. A glossa licked over his wheel rim, and Breakdown arched.

Every inch of his frame was mapped out by these curious talons, skilfully distracting him from the danger he might be in. And it still seemed as though it was only for Vortex to be able to remember later.

Breakdown's cooling fans continued working frantically, though the reason had changed as the heat rose along with the tingling pleasure on his sensor nodes. He squirmed anew, and the movement reminded him of the chains that bound his hands.

He whimpered.

And it appeared Vortex had read his mind when the attention of the other's digits shifted to his restrained hands. They forced his clenched fists to open, and stroked down over every finger, before the glossa licked Breakdown's fingertips mockingly.

Breakdown's engine rumbled louder when a surge of heat went straight to his interface panel.

Oh Sigma, what had he got himself into, he thought, but the coherence was lost as talons traced over his panel.

Breakdown whimpered once more. "Don't hurt me…"

Despite all the heat, he was still too aware who was leaning over him, whose energy field crackled against his and caused that wonderful prickling, and who's hands were on his chassis. Hands which were known to be vicious, but which felt so good at this particular moment.

Vortex' lip plates were again at the side of his helm, nibbling for a slight moment, before the 'copter said. "Slag, you're so fraggable, you know that? You're gorgeous…"

Breakdown quivered at the words.

A palm pressed at his interfacing panel while a thumb brushed down his cheek and over his lip plates - lips plates trembling with the desire to kiss.

"…here…" Vortex mumbled, and extended his energy field, the intensity incredible were he touched Breakdown and the pulse surging through the cover of his panel right into his hardware.

Breakdown writhed.

The fingers slid over his shoulder to his wheel rim, the other's field flared again with every word. "…here… and…"

Breakdown moaned when the charge increased inside his panel, the hand there never moving away.

The touch on his other side went further down, over the rim of his intake - where the energy field rushed into him once more - to his hip, and rested there.

Squirming, Breakdown gasped at every flare, bending his knee, his heel scuffed over the berth. The pleasure build, surging hot, and he eventually forgot who was doing this to him, its importance lost within bliss.

He whimpered, and moaned static laden when talons teased a transformation seam just above his waist.

"…and I think this spot…" Vortex continued, digging his finger in the Stunticon's hip joint. "…I like the most."

Vortex' field flared, powerfully, a pulse running over Breakdown's whole frame, most intense on his interface panel. It sent the Stunticon into his first overload that night.


	3. Bubbly

**Title:** Bubbly  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> G1  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> comedy, smut (unspecified, so make up what you like better ;) )  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Wildrider/Dead End  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Sadly, I own nothing.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Sometimes, you should just shut up.  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Bubbly (prompted by **ultharkitty**)  
><strong>Beta:<strong> **ultharkitty**

**Note:** Written for Day 03 of the _30 Days of Porn _Meme.  
>I hope my interpretation of the word bubbly is okay. :)<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Bubbly<strong>

Dead End arched, his optics flickering. "Mmm~ha!" _Slag_, this was good, he thought, but didn't say it. He wouldn't say anything so vulgar, not even in a situation like this - pressed up against the wall, his spoiler stroked roughly, vents working fast.

He moaned anew, then sighed, annoyed, when Wildrider began talking - again.

"I didn't know, you know - hah - it hadn't HA-ppened before, and… and…"

Dead End tried to stop paying attention to the words interrupted by moans and sighs, but those noises of arousal made the charge rise.

"_Oh Sigma_! You know, gotta tell him, but - Oh _FRAG_-"

Oh frag indeed. Dead End groaned loudly, and his head dropped back, writhing under Wildrider's frantic touches and strokes which mirrored his personality so well.

Rough, erratic, unfocused - _wild_- and Dead End's frame became hotter by every astrosecond.

Sometimes he needed it this way, and he knew Wildrider would never say no to him. He looked great, he was team, and it felt so fraggin' good.

An intense shudder surged down his frame.

What Dead End didn't need was Wildrider's almost constant talking - about anything, not even interfacing. He probably would have coped better with it if the other had said _certain_things, related to the current situation, but Dead End was far from motioning that he liked dirty talk…

"…s'not that I wanted that, you know, it- mpf - it's not. Ain't suicidal, but it's… Mn~AH! It just-" at this point, Dead End decided he'd had enough.

"Sigma," the red mech moaned - from arousal, but his resignation was clear. "Just shut the _frag_ up!" He pulled Wildrider even closer and stopped the incoherent flow of words with a fierce kiss.


	4. Silence

**Title:** Silence  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> G1  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> hurt/comfort, smut (plug'n'play, tactile)  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Blades/First Aid  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Sadly, I own nothing.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> When Hot Spot isn't there, Blades feels responsible for the team.  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Silence (prompted by **casusfere**)  
><strong>Beta:<strong> **ultharkitty**

**Note:** Written for Day 04 of the _30 Days of Porn _Meme.

* * *

><p><strong>Silence<strong>

Blades sat on the couch of the Protectobot base. The empty energon cube he had drunk from earlier was still on the table.

He shifted uncomfortably, and sighed.

The huge screen was out, because Blades didn't feel like watching TV, even if it would have distracted him from his thoughts. His worry.

He sensed Groove over the bond. He was in recharge, and stable, but he couldn't say the same about Streetwise.

First Aid had thrown him out when he'd wanted to help, though he knew he couldn't really have been helpful at all.

Now Blades sat there, and waited.

It took another two joors before First Aid entered the room, his shoulders slumped, tiredly.

Blades didn't see the exhaustion on First Aid's face, the battle mask hiding it, but the sensations through the bond were unmistakable.

They looked at each other, and Blades smiled.

Streetwise was safe now, stable, and his self-repair was working. First Aid didn't need to tell him, Blades just knew.

With his own energon cube, the medic sat down next to him and took his battle mask off before he sipped.

First Aid glanced at the cube, but Blades could tell that his optics lacked focus. He was probably thinking about today…

It had been a hard day for all of them, full of fighting, defending, fear and worry. Today, Blades hadn't even been yelled at for being reckless when he'd dived from the sky in a risky manoeuvre to reach his team mates as quickly as possible.

It was never a good sign when Blades wasn't yelled at because of this.

Streetwise and Groove were in medbay a floor beneath. Hot Spot was at the Ark for an important briefing about the day's events…

Blades' train of thought stopped when First Aid drank anew. Half of the cube was empty, the fingers tense around it.

Blades didn't know what to say, and so he kept quiet. Sometimes it was better not to speak when words would only make everything worse.

He shuffled closer.

Blades put First Aid's cube aside, the medic's hands clenching to fists when they were empty, the blue visor still fixed on them.

For an astrosecond, a sad smile appeared on Blades' lips, before he took one hand in his own, leading it to his mouth to kiss the knuckles softly. There were still remnants of oil and energon from the repairs which First Aid had forgot to clean off.

It was always amazing that the medic who cared about everyone didn't care enough for himself.

Blades sighed. This was the reason why someone else had to look after him…

His glossa flicked over a seam, the taste of oil mixing with the taste of the smooth metal which shouldn't have tasted of anything at all.

The hand relaxed in Blades' grip, and his digits found their way between the medic's palm and fingers, forcing them apart. Fingertips traced over the hand once, before Blades placed it at the side of his helm.

His optics went up, and met First Aid's. Blades winced inwardly. The sad look on the other's faceplates, and the guilt which had no reason to be there, hurt him to see.

Blades let go of First Aid's hand as his fingers stroked along the other's arm, his shoulder, and reached the chin, tracing his thumb over it lightly.

He leant closer, lip plates brushing over the other's forehead in a soft touch; he dropped down to the nose and then to the lips, pressing on them in a tentative kiss.

First Aid responded, fingers curling around Blades' helm when his optics shut down.

_Hold me._

_Want you._

_Please._

It was an echo through the bond, the sentiment so clear and pure that Blades could have never denied it.

He leant back and pulled the smaller mech onto him, holding him in a tight embrace. His energy field flared, reassuring, calming and so unlike the way he usually was. The other's field extended, the concentration of it most intense where First Aid touched him; at his helm, stroking down to his cheek, and his chest where digits dug into a seam.

First Aid seemed so fragile, so innocent and so out of place. Not made for this war they were fighting, that made Blades wish he could do anything else - more than he did right now.

They shivered when their field flares settled to a slow pace, pulsing, comforting each other; but this was only for First Aid.

Blades loosened his grip, but never let go, as he began caressing the medic's back. Fingers tracing cycles over white armour, he didn't do anything more. Only when their interface panels opened, the hand left the other's back. Stroking down to the side, over the revealed hardware, Blades knew First Aid wanted him to connect them.

Trust, the wish for closeness, for comfort and the feeling that someday, everything would be all right. All that swept over the bond even before the interface was complete; and when it was, Blades' and First Aid's consciousness dissolved into one as much as it was possible for a Cybertronian being. With the gestalt bond open, the hardware connected, everything came through.

Emotions, information, sensations, systems statuses…

They didn't speak. They didn't need to.

The sound of their engines and cooling systems drowned their quiet moans and soft sighs, and produced the only noise in the room. The charge rose slowly, pleasure surging, it mixed with reassurance and the sense of safety.

Blades had to protect them when Hot Spot wasn't there.

He offlined his optics, nibbling at First Aid's helm gently as he tightened his hold once more.

He had to protect First Aid…


	5. To The Rescue

**Title:** To The Rescue  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> G1  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> crack, comedy, smutty (tactile, implied plug'n'play)  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Wheeljack/Sideswipe  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Sadly, I own nothing.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> It was either freezing to death, or…  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Heat (prompted by **artemis10002000**)  
><strong>Beta:<strong> **ultharkitty**

**Note:** Written for Day 05 of the _30 Days of Porn _Meme.  
>Set during <em>Fire on the Mountain<em>. :)

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><p><strong>To The Rescue<strong>

Heat radiated from their frames. It threatened to melt the ice cave; the improvised shelter from the raging storm outside which drowned out their muffled sounds of pleasure.

They couldn't lie on the ground or against the walls. Not unless they wanted to be imprisoned in the eternal ice of the planet's pole - like Skyfire, who they'd tried to rescue…

Sideswipe shivered. This was ridiculous.

His hands stopped paying attention to the other's winglets and round windshield, and settled on the waist. The two mechs held themselves upright, their legs weak from the surging, prickling charge.

"This was a stupid idea…" Sideswipe said, hoarse with static.

A few breems ago, it had been a choice between freezing to death or heating their frames - which meant, in other words, interfacing.

It had been Wheeljack's idea. Of course, the engineer always had such ridiculous ideas… And it didn't help at all that he apparently knew exactly where to touch.

They had agreed on no plugging in, just touching to keep their body temperatures up until the storm ended, and this, too, was ridiculous.

Their energy fields had long mingled to one, pulsing around them, pleasurable, tickling, teasing. It drove Sideswipe insane, and his fingers tightened around the other's waist.

Wheeljack's vents stuttered, the vocal indicators flickered brightly as he laughed. "We haven't exploded yet…"

Sideswipe needed a moment until the words made sense to his by pleasure-tranquilised processor, then he muttered against the other's neck cables. "Hmpf… doesn't feel like it…"

Another intense shudder surged through his frame when the throbbing energy around them increased for an instant. He moaned, and fingers tentatively groped for Wheeljack's interface panel. The engineer quivered at the touch.

"I thought you didn't wanna plug in." Wheeljack's voice was amused beneath the static, and Sideswipe huffed.

This had been another stupid idea, and in fact, it had been Sideswipe's…

The red mech revved his engine. "Forget what I said before." And the touch at the panel became firmer.


	6. Parallax

**Title:** Parallax  
><strong>ContinuityFandom:** G1, 2001 - A Space Odyssey  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> crack, some dark, crossover, smutty (plug'n'play), some sort of non-con (uhm, xeno? Óo)  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> HAL 9000/Vortex  
><strong>Rating:<strong> R  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Sadly, I own nothing.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> HAL and Vortex have a deal with unexpected consequences.  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Parallax (prompted by caiusmajor)  
><strong>Beta:<strong> ultharkitty

**Note:** Written for Day 06 of the _30 Days of Porn_Meme.  
>Okay, at first I wanted to write this with Starscream, but thanks to a hilarious twitter conversation with caiusmajor, raisedbymoogles and primusatemyleg, it now is with Vortex, and really? It is even better with him. *lol*<br>(Even though HAL/Starscream is my crossover OTP. :p)

* * *

><p><strong>Parallax<strong>

The room was huge, white and cold. There was a wall with a few buttons, a screen, and a tiny red camera which resembled an optic.

Well, tiny compared to Vortex, who kneeled in front of the said wall and plugged his wrist cable into a port.

"You feel that?" the 'copter asked, amused as he carefully prodded the other with a low surge of information.

"My systems identify a foreign presence, but I am not able to sense these things the way human beings do," HAL 9000 said with a calm, collected voice.

Vortex had always thought Blast Off's voice was calm and blank, but compared to the computer, the shuttle was rather emotive.

Vortex tipped his head to a side; pondering and dismissing the idea of saying anything about HAL's sensibility - or lack of it - reminding him of his stay in the detention centre. This wasn't part of their deal.

The deal they'd made a klik ago was only about a certain exchange of data, nothing personal, even though Vortex didn't have the feeling of interacting with a sentient being. It was dangerous, it increased the chance of telling something which shouldn't be told.

The AI would give him some information about new space projects the humans were planning in exchange for a full scan of a Cybertronian robot. Vortex didn't understand but also didn't ask why the AI needed a Decepticon for this, if the humans were such great friends with the Autobots…

The plug Vortex had found and needed to use was slightly smaller than an interface connector - it had to be huge for a human - and HAL had told him it had been for the connection with SAL 9000 before it was relocated.

Vortex opened his interface panel, and when he connected to the human created AI, he didn't know what he'd bargained for.

The scan began immediately. It spread slowly from his side in every direction. It was warm, and foreign, a completely alien coding, completely different than anything Cybertronian, and when Vortex tried to take hold of a few bits of program, he failed.

Vortex' intakes hitched when the odd touch spread. It was as though hot liquid flowed over him, surging further into parts so very slowly. It was creepy, and tranquilising, and arousing. The lines of code poked against his firewalls and his sensor net created a warning prickling, indicating danger, but for Vortex it only felt good.

"Your bodily temperature increases."

A staticky laugh escaped Vortex' vocaliser. "Hehe… yeah. I kinda feel you prodding."

"My apologies. I did not know that a robotic existence may be able to register sensations."

Vortex laughed again, memories of when he hadn't been able to feel and was more dead than alive still too present in his mind. "Yeah, comes with living, you know." _With having a body…_

"No. I do not."

The weird, deep warmth inside Vortex reached further into him, spreading into his rotor blades. He moaned, putting a hand on the floor for purchase as his equilibrium nearly gave in. It wasn't due to the charge, which still increased, but was yet too low to cause the glitch. It was his processor, trying to cope with the artificial coding, it clocked fast and shut down systems which were treated as useless in his current position.

"This might be the difference between us..." HAL said calmly, but Vortex' CPU couldn't make sense of the words.

The sensations on his rotors flowed back and forth, and it was as though someone was touching them, just from the inside, and more intense than an actual touch. It had a threatening oddness to it which increased the longer the scan lasted. Beneath the heat of the foreign coding prodding his systems curiously, there was a not _actually_sentient chilliness and a sensation Vortex' couldn't describe.

The scan crawled further into him - into his systems - and it reached his knees and neck cables. Vortex shuddered, and deactivated his vocaliser as not to moan again when it felt significantly better than a scan should.

"…that you are alive, and I merely exist," HAL elaborated further. But it stayed unheard when the scan was almost complete and surged through Vortex' head, causing the charge to spike and sent him into overload.


	7. Sensory Deprivation

**Title:** Sensory Deprivation  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> G1  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> smutty (space-play, energy field play)  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Skyfire/Blast Off  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Sadly, I own nothing.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Skyfire and Blast Off have something in common…  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Sensory Deprivation (prompted by **artemis10002000**)  
><strong>Beta:<strong> **ultharkitty**

**Note:** Written for Day 07 of the _30 Days of Porn _Meme.  
>Okay, this goes for almost every piece I wrote for this meme, but I guess I need to mention it now: prompt is where I start, not where I necessarily end up. :)<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Sensory Deprivation<strong>

The first time Skyfire returned to space, he didn't feel well.

It was cold; a cold burning on his plating which he actually should have been used to in more than one way.

He had been stuck in a prison of ice for several millions of the planet's cycles. He'd been frozen, until his sensor net couldn't stand the stress any longer and had shut down.

Sometimes he'd been awake, sometimes he hadn't. The last millennia were a delirium and his most intense memory was the discomfort.

Now back in space, the discomfort was the same.

Skyfire's scanners worked, monitored his speed and picked up the locations of space scrap he had to evade.

His scanners also picked up the presence of the newer Decepticon shuttle. Or rather, second shuttle, because Blast Off was hardly a new-build, even though he'd been recently released from the Detention Centre.

Out of sight, Skyfire knew the other had noticed him, too.

They kept their distance.

* * *

><p>The second time Skyfire returned to space, the discomfort was still there, and he began to detest it.<p>

He was built for this, he shouldn't feel unwell because of the surrounding cold…

Deep in thought, trying to focus on his mission, Skyfire's scanners informed him again about the Decepticon shuttle.

Blast Off… Since his last space flight, Skyfire had remembered the other very well indeed. The Combaticon had worked in Altihex, he had been asked to fly the mission to observe and examine the planet they now knew as "Earth"…

Blast Off had declined, because he had wanted to go alone, but this hadn't been a solo mission.

What irony of fate that they now fought a war on this planet.

But the past mission wasn't the only aspect Skyfire had in common with the other. He opened a commlink, remembering the frequency from before the war, and hoped it was still the right one.

'I know what you've been through…' he began, and wasn't sure how to ask if the other also had problems getting used to space again. If the experience of lack of sensory input had ruined the very thing he was built for, like it had ruined it for Skyfire.

Blast Off didn't answer.

* * *

><p>The third time Skyfire returned to space, he re-entered Earth's orbit when he came back from the Moon. He had yet to wait for the permission to enter atmosphere and land, and so he gave in to his tiredness and shut down a few of his systems.<p>

Almost six breems passed before his scanners initiated an emergency reboot. Blast Off came closer - fast - even though his thrusters weren't burning any longer.

Skyfire tensed, not sure how to react as he realised the other's weapon systems were offline. He slowed down.

Air puffed from vents and valves, making Blast Off turn and coming closer without appearing to be a threat.

And Skyfire wondered, yet didn't take any measures to hinder the other sliding near him, hovering close to him. Due to Blast Off's mass shifting, they were almost the same size. Now their undersides were parallel, Skyfire knew.

This was wasn't an attack, this was something else.

He still didn't dare to open a commlink; maybe the other hadn't heard him the first time, maybe he had. But words became unnecessary as Blast Off's energy field flared.

It was a burst of heat through the coldness, which swept over Skyfire with a careful touch. But there was no need for caution, because the memory of this came back quickly, reminding Skyfire of how it could be.

Skyfire responded with his own field, his uncertainty so clear in his energy signature, even he could feel it. Though, despite that, there was want, not for the Decepticon shuttle, just for _this_.

Blast Off's field expanded again, more intense this time, and Skyfire answered, the fields flaring in a mutual pace where the concentration slowly increased.

The heat inside Skyfire's frame rose but was countered by the freezing sensation from outside. It was a pleasurable contrast, washing away the anxiety and causing his wings to shiver.

And there was coding, hiding bliss within the signatures which made the right places tingle and prickle, drowning out the pain of frozen energon lines in his wings. Information within their energy signatures which their root-modes could neither create nor read became overwhelmingly new after all these millennia. It was nothing any planet-bound mech could understand when touch was unnecessary.

Turning slowly in lazy rolls around each other, the two shuttles reached the point of sunrise and their noses dove into unfiltered radiation.

The heat increased, energy fields mingled together while the remnants of a solar flare bounced off the shared pulsing pleasure, triggering ticklish sensations on their frames. They didn't make a sound, or maybe they did, but without an open commlink and with no matter in space, there was only silence. The buzzing of his own sensors was the only noise which Skyfire's scanners picked up.

And he didn't care about silence, or coldness, and for a moment the dark cloud of discomforting memories vanished when he remembered how things could be.

Skyfire didn't care why Blast Off had initiated this; if it was because of their similar experiences or because of the simple need for pleasure in space.

Skyfire didn't care if Blast Off's motivation was selfish; his own certainly was.


	8. Need

**Title:** Need  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> G1  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> masturbation (sticky), implied hurt/comfort & threesome  
><strong>CharactersPairing:** Fireflight, implied Air Raid/Slingshot/Fireflight  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Sadly, I own nothing.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Fireflight feels alone after Air Raid and Slingshot made fun of him.  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Need (prompted by ultharkitty)  
><strong>Beta:<strong> ultharkitty

**Note:** Written for Day 08 of the _30 Days of Porn _Meme.

* * *

><p><strong>Need<strong>

Fireflight couldn't recharge. He lay on his berth and sighed, booting up his optics.

The orange ceiling of his room was boring to look at, but his glance was still fixed on it.

Fireflight shifted a little, and sighed again. He wasn't used to recharging alone, not like this, with being angry at two of his gestalt. Though it wasn't truly anger, he was rather disappointed and a little sad.

Fireflight was forbidden to fly for a few days. He'd crashed only a day ago, and his wings needed the time to heal, so Ratchet had said.

Offlining his optics again, Fireflight wrapped his arms around his frame tightly. He didn't like it when those two made fun of him, he never did, but this time, their words had been really painful. Silverbolt hadn't been there to berate them, or at least to hinder them from laughing at him.

Fireflight had left the rec room quietly. Air Raid and Slingshot probably hadn't even realised how much the mocking hurt him, and this was almost as bad as the words themselves.

And this all hurt more than the recent crash…

Fireflight loosened the hug and stroked down to the freshly repaired wing. The new welded parts were sensitive, and prickled at the slightest touch.

He relaxed when his fingers mapped out the lines of the repairs, and trembled. He wiggled on the berth when the contact caused a restlessness which triggered the need for more touch.

Fireflight sighed again, though the reason now an entirely different one. Both his hands moved, caressing transformation seams; they made the inner ache fade away.

His fingertips traced lightly over his frame, his intake rim and further down. Fireflight could pretend it was Air Raid touching him, smiling while doing so, or with that cheeky grin of his, his optics gleaming mischievously when he tickled the ailerons of Fireflight's wings. Maybe Slingshot was there, too, holding Fireflight's wrists, leaning over him and nibbling at his helm with lip plates brushing over it.

The jet shivered on the berth, his own hand stroking the inside of his thigh while his mind was caught in the fantasy of teasing touches and lips.

His intakes hitched, his vocaliser creating staticky sounds, and his vents working a little faster than before.

Fireflight wanted his brother to apologise, but he wanted them to treat him like this even more.

A digit found its way between his legs where the heat was pooling, increasing and spreading over the whole frame. The fingertip felt like a glossa, circling around his valve cover, flicking mockingly against it, and Fireflight's sighing became a moan.

A leg bent and the heel scratched over the berth while his other hand pinched his wing once, then stroked up to his neck, before he bit down into a finger, muffling another noise of arousal.

"Hmpf…" Fireflight arched up, writhing as his sensor net glowed with pleasure.

The picture was still too real when he spread his legs, imagining Air Raid pushing them apart, the firm grip of the other's hands around his thighs while the glossa teased his cover.

It opened without Fireflight's conscious intent, his valve radiating heat over his finger as he caressed the outer sensors lightly. The touch was wet, the lubricant warm, and ready for more and so the finger slid inside, slowly, gingerly.

"Hmm~AH!" Fireflight squirmed, his energy field flared, but there was no one else's field to grind against.

Fireflight whimpered at the near disillusion of his fantasy, but his body was too charged, his sensor net too strained to stop now from disappointment. The optics still offline, he moved his finger gently, caressing sensor nodes inside his valve, causing him to sigh and moan.

A second finger joined the other, the friction increased and with it the bliss crawling over his sensor net. His hips eagerly met his fingers.

Fireflight clutched at the berth above his head, where Slingshot would have held his wrists, hindering him from moving while Air Raid's glossa teased him, drove him crazy.

He bent his legs, the small of his back lost contact with the berth when the movements became more frantic.

Fireflight moaned. He wanted this to be real. He wanted them to do this to him. This and so much more. More touches, more lips on him, giving him pleasure, and heat creeping into every little part of his body until he couldn't discern the single waves of pleasure anymore and everything mingled to an entity of delightful sensations.

He threw his head back, the grip at the berth tightening when his valve clenched. His vocaliser crackled with static, his sensor net with pleasure as the charge peaked and flooded over him. His fingers gave two more thrusts before he slumped, ventilation systems working, whirling and trying to cool his body.

The bliss remained on his sensors a little longer, clouding coherent thoughts and the shame which followed as soon as Fireflight realised he was alone.

He didn't move. Clinging to the last tingles of overload, it was as though moving made reality clearer.

Fireflight bit his lower lip so as not to whimper. He was still alone, and still disappointed, now even more than before. Withdrawing his fingers didn't help, either. The sudden emptiness was unwelcome, causing the embarrassment to increase and it was again impossible for him to recharge.

* * *

><p>Almost two breems passed in which Fireflight felt extraordinary miserable, the last post-overload sensations had vanished a while ago.<p>

Even as he shifted and lay on his side, Fireflight refused to online his optics. Seeing the result of his actions would make everything only worse, and he didn't want to cope with it now…

He sighed, and then his commlink pinged.

'Uhm… Flight?' It was Slingshot, and even though his voice had the usual annoyance in it, there was an underlying uncertainty which probably only the Aerialbots would notice.

Fireflight didn't answer, though.

'Hey, I know you hear me…'

Fireflight still didn't respond.

'I knew you'd screw it up!' This was Air Raid, and Fireflight couldn't help but smile to himself.

'Oh right, because you're Mister _Great Apology_ here!'

'Shut up, you'll make everything worse…'

'Really, if I were you, I-'

Now, Fireflight really had to laugh, and he let the sound echo through the open comm. Both his team mates stopped for a moment, then:

'Uhm, listen Flight…' Air Raid spoke again, hesitantly. 'We're sorry.'

'We didn't mean it, okay? I mean we meant the apology like we meant it, but not-'

'Be quiet you two," Fireflight interrupted Slingshot, and grinned, booting up his optical sensors.

The silence lasted only a few astroseconds, before Air Raid muttered. "Uhm… okay. Are you still angry? You sound a little like you still are…'

Fireflight didn't bother to explain that he hadn't been really angry in the first place, and only answered playfully, "Not really… But I have an idea in case you want to make up for earlier…"


	9. Release

**Title:** Release  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> G1  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> PWP, smut (sticky)  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Motormaster/Breakdown  
><strong>Rating:<strong> NC-17  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Sadly, I own nothing.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> PWP, Motormaster and Breakdown - that's all.  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Release (prompted by

* * *

><p><strong>Beta:<strong> ultharkitty

**Note:** Written for Day 09 of the _30 Days of Porn_Meme.  
>This was actually my first attempt at sticky, even before the last prompt… Yay, practicing. *lol*<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Release<strong>

"Ah!" Breakdown cried out at every thrust of the hard but slow pace. Straddling Motormaster's lap, he felt the other's spike thick inside him. Vibrations from both their engines travelled along their intimate connection and drove him almost insane as they intensified the pleasure on sensor nodes inside his valve.

It was maddening, almost unbearable, and Breakdown wanted more, wanted it faster.

But the grip of two strong hands on his hips tightened when he tried to quicken the pace, showing him who was in charge.

Breakdown whimpered; clutching at Motormaster's shoulders, his finger dug in transformation seams. He earned himself a muffled grunt and through the gestalt bond, there was a surge of approval; which was, however, almost imperceptible under the overlying sensations.

Valve clenching around the throbbing spike, overload came closer oh so slowly. And with every thrust, Breakdown thought his body would give in. He arched, throwing his head back. The ventilation systems of both mechs raged, working frantically, increasing like the noises Breakdown made.

And then, finally, Motormaster guided his hips faster. The grey fingers squeezing the metal hard - harder - and everything else lost its importance to the hot pleasure.

Breakdown shuddered when the waves of bliss shot through him. Searing pleasure jolted up his spine and into every inch of his body until he couldn't discern his rocking hips from the trembling of his chassis.

He couldn't hold it off when the charge peaked. Making him tense, and clutch tighter, the burning sensations of overload released him from the sweet, delightful torture.


	10. Fast

**Title:** Fast  
><strong>Continuity:<strong> G1  
><strong>Warnings:<strong> hints to bondage, implied tactile smut  
><strong>Pairing:<strong> Springer/Blurr  
><strong>Rating:<strong> PG-13  
><strong>Disclaimer:<strong> Sadly, I own nothing.  
><strong>Summary:<strong> Everything Blurr does, he does too fast…  
><strong>Prompt:<strong> Fast (prompted by primusatemyleg)  
><strong>Beta:<strong> ultharkitty

**Note:** Written for Day 10 of the _30 Days of Porn _Meme.  
>Vaguely based on this prompt from the old kink meme. Maybe I'll write more for it someday…<p>

* * *

><p><strong>Fast<strong>

It didn't take long for Blurr to overload.

It was only to be expected, Springer mused, as he watched the blue bot twitching his way through overload. Straining the cuffs on wrists and feet, chained to the berth, the position oh so vulnerable, the blue frame tensed as the vocaliser generated a staticky shriek.

The image was thrilling, and Springer hid his grin behind his hand. It had been sensible to restrain the speedster when a mere touch could get him off this fast.

"I… I told you…" Blurr whimpered, static in his voice while his EM field still pulsed with excess energy.

Indeed, Blurr had told the triple changer that interfacing wouldn't be a good idea. That Springer wouldn't get much from this…

But Blurr was wrong.

Springer's hand slid teasingly over the other's warm chest plating, and he leaned down, nibbling at Blurr's helm.

The blue mech moaned, squirming; Springer's grin broadened.

"And I told you I'd like it."

This was going to be a long night…


End file.
